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[neiptune]

surreal, but nice

cw: 7k wc, female reader, strangers to lovers, osamu doesn't exactly know how to handle one of the most famous music artists in japan suddenly popping in onigiri miya, inspired by notting hill, my sappy entry for the romcom collab hosted by @bloompompom! thank you @yellow-sword-lily, this fic is also a little yours :)

Miya Osamu is a creature of habit.

He gets up fairly early, showers, never leaves the small apartment without fixing himself a nutritious breakfast, more or less knows and is therefore prepared to what to expect from each particular day.

Downstairs there’s his beloved shop, a dormant creature he gently stirs from sleep each morning. When he doesn’t have to head to the market to select and order the freshest products, Osamu starts the day by contacting all his suppliers and arranging the deliveries. He then checks the inventory, reviews reservations, welcomes the only other chef to discuss any special preparations or new experiments. It’s not unusual for him to check his emails, monitor the website and official social media of the shop, the one thing he actually hates doing because he knows damn well one negative comment will ruin his day, especially since there’s nothing he can do to rectify mistakes made days, sometimes weeks before.

He has a chef, one dishwasher, three servers, two food delivery drivers and that’s about it. Osamu Miya is the owner, manager, host, executive chef, server and cashier of onigiri Miya. He juggles management skills, culinary talent and business acumen just perfectly. He’s prepared and knows exactly what each day has in store for him.

Until you happen.

Osamu has been cooking for almost three hours by the time the shop officially opens at 11AM. It’s not unusual for new faces to come in from time to time, despite his clientele being more or less established, but it is rare to hear the little door chime ring so soon. Except if his dumb brother happens to be in town.

But you’re not his dumb brother. You’re a new and yet strangely familiar face, even hidden behind thick sunglasses and a beret that one could deem more appropriate to a parisian getaway rather than a Kansai one.

“Morning” you offer a little bow, hesitant by the door “you’re open, right?”

“Uh, sure” he smiles, still a little uncertain after a moment of astonishment “I don’t often have clients for breakfast. What can I get ya?”

“I’ve been told this is the best onigiri shop in town. I’ll let you decide”

You seem to consider your options for a moment, then decide to sit at the closest empty table. Osamu would usually provide more than a nod: he’d make conversation, ask questions. Forming bonds with whoever visits his shop and trusts his food is his favorite part of the day, as well as a great activity to engage in while his hands are busy putting the rice into molds.

“Close that mouth” is the only thing he utters under his breath, glancing at the server who set your table “yer catching flies”

“But it’s her!” Hiro squeaks as silently as humanly possible “I’m gonna ask for an autograph”

“You will do no such thing”

“We could hang it in the shop!”

“Go help in the kitchen, Minato called in sick today. I’ll handle this”

Hiro disappears behind closed doors but only after batting his freakishly long lashes to his boss, a heartbreaking disappointed look on his face.

Osamu takes a deep breath and squeezes the molds together, an action executed as gently as possible to keep the fluffy texture that makes his onigiri the best in town.

He knows you, of course he knows you. Not only your face was on any available surface for the entirety of the previous summer (posters, billboards, magazine covers to advertise your first ever concert in the Koshien stadium), he’s also pretty sure in high school Atsumu had perpetually ruined the walls of their shared room with some crappy adhesive squares used to hang your poster.

Osamu is not really a dedicated listener, he knows a couple of your most famous songs and that your success is damn near planetary. You have a house in Tokyo but spend most of the year in America, California if he recalls correctly, and you tour across Europe as well. Yet, it’s been easy to pick what to serve you. The gourmet options such as salmon roe or roast beef are off the table: they don’t make new clients feel special. What new clients need is a taste of authenticity, something that reminds them of home, and don’t you look just like the kind of person who could use some of that?

Osamu decides on pickled plum, tuna mayo and bonito flakes. One serving usually consists of three onigiri but he can’t resist adding an extra treat for you, a tenmusu onigiri. He’s recently perfected the recipe with an egg-free tempura batter that is still thick enough to absorb his special sauce.

He hopes it’s not creepy that he lingers by your table after he brings your meal: celebrity or not, you’re a new client. And Osamu can’t resist observing the wander taking over customers who are unfamiliar with his kitchen, as soon as they take the first bite. He hopes you are no exception.

“If this is an onigiri” you lock eyes with him and smile, glorious, radiant “what the hell have I been eating until now?”

“Probably not the best in town” he grins, proud, a slight blush already coating his cheeks. Damn it, he’s tempted to turn the baseball cap once more, let the brim shield his awkwardness. But that would be totally lame.

“Is it a family business?”

“No. It’s just… mine”

You hum, busy chewing on another bite. Then you swallow and ask another question, invite him to sit eventually, then apologize because he’s probably busy (he is) and has things to do (he does) but this is never going to happen again for Osamu, because he’s not Atsumu. And so he sits and makes conversation like a normal human being that definitely isn’t obsessively dwelling on how beautiful you are, how different your voice sounds when you’re not singing, how much he’d hate for a client to come in and pop that bubble. Which is exactly what happens and he doesn’t like it one bit how you interrupt your chuckle, lower your head, hunch your shoulders in an attempt to hide. He doesn’t like that he has to excuse himself, call Hiro back form the kitchen, make conversation with Suzuki-san, listen while he describes all his latest hospital visits in horrifying detail.

You look at him from time to time, the quiet shop owner suddenly turned chatty sparks your curiosity. He’s skilled with his hands and genuinely interested in what the person who must be an habitué has to say. He’s attractive, too. Especially as he tries to disguise the occasional glances directed your way or the disappointment that flashes in his eyes when you get up and start collecting your things.

“Can I get the check, please?” you approach the counter, pretend not to notice his hesitation. Osamu decides against indulging in the “it’s on the house” cliche, opts for treating you as any other client. With the exception of a small discount you won’t even notice.

“That was the best breakfast I had in a while” you collect the receipt and put in your pocket.

“You should come back, then. To have another” Osamu cringes internally as soon as the words leave his mouth and Suzuki-san’s chuckle makes him want to dig a hole to disappear into. But you smile, despite probably having heard the corny line a million other times, and tell him that you just might.

It would’ve been perfect: a beautiful ending to a glorious encounter. It could’ve been. If only you didn’t turn around so abruptly, a small shriek echoing across the shop as you came face to face with Mai, the sudden sound and panic causing her to jump and spill the fresh iced tea from the jug in her hand all over your painfully clean, crisp, starched, white button down.

You both freeze, your mouth open in a silent scream, an horrified look in Mai’s eyes that would’ve been comical on literally any other occasion. Osamu wishes he would’ve went with the “it’s on the house” cliche.

“Oh my god! Oh god! It’s you! I mean, I’m sorry!” Mai’s voice comes out an octave too high “my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Well, this is great” you frantically grab a handful of napkins from the counter and attempt to dab the mess on your shirt “I have a meeting in half an hour!”

“Please, take my uniform! I will pay for the dry cleaning!”

“Actually” Osamu chimes in as politely as possible, trying his best not to let his anxiety get the best of him “don’t take this the wrong way but, uh, I live upstairs. You can get cleaned up and…”

“You’re kidding, right?” your astonished look is almost glacial. It makes him falter just slightly.

“Or ya can leave with a giant orange stain on yer wet, probably uncomfortably cold shirt?”

“Miya-san!” Mai’s hiss and your shocked expression make him think that sarcasm probably wasn’t a good idea. Osamu sighs.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. These are the keys, you can go on your own, I promise the bathroom’s clean”

You eye him for a few seconds more, then decide against grabbing the keys from his hand.

“I’m gonna need a change of clothes”

Osamu blinks a couple times, dumbfounded. His clothes? You’re asking to wear… his clothes?

“Sure! Yeah, sure. Come on” now his voice sounds uncharacteristically squeaky and he clears his throat as you follow him up the stairs, Suzuki-san’s good grief still ringing in his ears.

Thank god he cleaned the entire apartment just the day before. As much as he likes to brag about being the tidy twin, deep down he knows he’s just as messy as Atsumu.

Osamu tries hard not to look at you, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed while he rummages in his drawers in search of something that could fit you. He shortly wonders if it’d be a good idea to offer a complementary bento box to make up for the disaster Mai caused.

“I’m genuinely sorry” he starts rambling because the silence is unbearable and some of Atsumu’s genes really do take over sometimes “the worst incident we ever had at the shop was my brother almost choking on his dinner. I had to perform the heimlich maneuver, it wasn’t pretty” god, where the hell are this clean, not embarrassing shirts?

“Guess this one will go down in history” your voice is less sharp now, which relieves him.

“Oh, no. I will never tell anyone about this, ever. Mai and Suzuki-san will have to sign an nda. A proper, legally binding one”

The laugh you offer sounds weirdly intimate in the small space of his bedroom, it makes the tips of his ears hot. Finally, he’s able to dig out a decent, basic shirt you accept by thanking him softly. When you lock yourself in the bathroom, Osamu rushes to the kitchen to tidy up the mess he’s left behind after that morning’s breakfast. No time to concentrate on how you’re actually, genuinely in his home, cleaning yourself in the same bathroom he showered in, without a shirt on.

No one’s ever going to believe him. Hell, he may not believe it himself by the end of the day.

“Hey” he jumps at your voice, sudden and closer than expected. You look good in his basic shirt, it suits you somehow. Did you shove your own in one of the bags you left by the door?

“Hey” Osamu says back and cringes for the millionth time “are ya hungry?”

You smile when he shuts his eyes for a second, right after the silly question leaves his mouth.

“Not hungry”

“Right. Of course. Thirsty? I have really good tea, from Shizuoka. And orange juice” he pauses for a second, then adds “or water”

Your smile grows, almost melts into a giggle. “Not thirsty either”

“Okay” he clears his throat “how about dessert? I made some mitarashi dango just yesterday”

“I have a meeting to attend”

“Oh. Sure, yeah, that makes sense” he wants to bash his head against the wall “I’ll walk you out. To downstairs” thank fuck ‘Tsumu isn’t there, he’d never let him live this down. Jesus.

You precede him to the door, gather your bags, then softly thank him for the shirt.

“Nice meeting you, Osamu” he nearly explodes when you say his name, no honorifics whatsoever. How do you even know? He hasn’t carried a name tag on his shirt for years.

“It was nice to meet you too” there’s no time to dwell on dumb, pointless questions “surreal, but nice”

He thinks if your smile could conjure waves, he’d gladly give up all the oxygen in his lungs and drown in them. Has someone ever looked as beautiful while smiling at him? He doesn’t think so. He can’t think. Not when you’re leaning closer, not when your arms are suddenly wrapped around his neck, not when you’re pressing your lips to his. Holy shit. You’re pressing your lips to his. And he’s forgotten how to breathe, let alone kiss. Osamu just freezes, like a marble statue, like a teenager who’s never touched a woman before. Right as he’s about to swallow the shock and fucking move, you’re already pulling away, eyes not leaving his despite the slight self-consciousness swarming in those irises.

And then you disappear, just like the dream he believed you were, all that’s left is an empty spot by the door and his heart slamming against a pathetically ill-equipped ribcage.

La Suite is one of the most luxurious hotels in the prefecture and Osamu feels out of place with the 30 onigiri order he’s carrying past a french restaurant and a traditional japanese one, all soft carpeting, dim lights and wide windows. So different from his.

He timidly explains that he’s there to deliver an order to a certain Bennet-san, who for some reason insisted he’d be the one bringing it to her hotel. They look at him funny but let him through and give the coordinates: top floor, superior double room. A woman meets him the second he steps out of the elevator and sternly asks him to follow her, a silly part of him wonders if he’s about to get murdered in one of the top 25 hotels in Japan. But then she knocks on a door right before swinging it open and he doesn’t even get to explain that he’s not supposed to get inside, she can take the bloody bag and he’ll be on his merry way, but once again Osamu fails to determine what the day holds in store for him.

Once more, it’s you. A less preppy version, one that seems so small in such a gigantic room, the sea breeze blowing from the terrace gracefully lifting up the hem of a tennis skirt you immediately fight to keep down as you promptly get up from the couch.

“Hi” he says, so dumbfounded he barely notices the door closing behind him.

“Miya-san” you bow, keep your eyes down, no sign of a smile he could by now deem familiar “I’m sorry for the trouble, I know the hotel is pretty far from the restaurant and you must be busy. This will only take a second”

Osamu’s brows furrow, confusion evident in the way he cocks his head. You don’t catch it, because your eyes are glued to the floor. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me”

His eyes soften as part of the tension leaves his shoulders. Truth is, Osamu is glad you’re apologizing: despite how beautiful and dreamy you may be, life is not quite a movie and he doesn’t exactly appreciate being blindsided by a stranger. He doesn’t really understand what made you think kissing him would be a good idea (was his awkardness interpreted the wrong way? Did his stare linger on your smile a second too long?) but he’s certain you meant no harm. A shitty person certainly wouldn’t take time out of her day to leave an autograph on a napkin, especially right after half a jug of iced tea was spilled on her shirt just minutes before. To Hiro, with love.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Can ya look at me?”

You meet his gaze hesitantly, mouth a thin line of harsh disapproval directed at yourself. For a second, you remind him of someone and he almost breaks into a smile.

“Thank you for apologizing. We’re good”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah!” he chuckles “you didn’t have to place such a big order”

You blink twice, then start nervously fiddling with your fingers “ah, actually I didn’t do it to… well, those onigiris are just really good. I wanted to take some extra ones with me”

“You’re leaving?” he doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, especially not while you’re so intentionally keeping your distance.

“Kinda. My record label rented a house in the countryside, I’ll spend most of the summer locked in, trying to finish my new album. I couldn’t do it in America, I missed being home but didn’t want to endure Tokyo’s chaos so I ended up picking Hyogo. Sorry, you didn’t ask to know all that” you chuckle tensely “we leave tomorrow and I didn’t want to go without apologizing first. That’s all. You may go now”

Osamu hums. “I may go? As in I’m excused?” he laughs when your painfully stoic expression melts into sheer horror.

“No! Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You take yourself too seriously” he grins “I’m just messin’ with ya”

“That’s not very nice of you”

“Would you compare it to kissing a stranger out of the blue?”

“Oh god” you hide your overheated face in your hands “you said we’re good!”

“And we are” Osamu steps closer to gently place the bags still in his hands on the marble topped pedestal coffee table. It’s just fun to tease you, one of the many irritating habits he shares with his brother.

His brother. Osamu looks up, a risky desire taking shape in his head and threatening to spill over the tip of his tongue.

“I’m really sorry, Miya-san” you repeat and he doesn’t love that you’re now calling him that “uh, this is your shirt. Cleaned and ironed. Thank you for…”

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

You freeze, paper bag still in hand. “Uhm, nothing interesting”

“No packing?”

“My manager does that for me”

He chuckles. “Right. Chances you’d want to spend your last night in the city at an even less interesting birthday party?”

Osamu waits patiently while you weigh your options, recognizes the confusion in your hesitant stare but doesn’t quite understand why there’s a weary vibration to your voce when you accept, the slight disappointment that flashes across your features.

It’s only fair, you think as he parts from the room with a smile and the command to secure those onigiris in a fridge. If showing you off to his friends like some valuable conquest is the way he wants to even the score, you’re in no position to deny him. You’re the one at fault and you’ve been given a chance to make up for it by wearing the facade you wear best.

Then why does it feel so disheartening, this time?

When Shinsuke opens the door, he’s more surprised by your presence than the carefully wrapped gift in your hands. Not that he doubted Osamu: why send a message to the group chat telling everyone that a) he was bringing someone and b) they should’ve absolutely not behaved any differently than usual if not better (in bold), if he wasn’t actually going to show up with a plus one?

Still, a small part of him did wonder if Atsumu’s and Rintaro’s relentless teasing finally got the best of him. Shinsuke doesn’t think that his friend works too much or that he should start “looking around” before “his hair starts greying again only this once naturally”. He remembers Osamu rolling his eyes at his brother when he implied that at this rate he’s gonna have to tie the knot with the restaurant, only to then space out for most of the evening as everyone else found new topics to migrate toward.

In short, Shinsuke wondered if Osamu was going to come up with a last minute excuse to justify the empty spot next to him at the table. But it seems that spot is going to be taken after all, by you nonetheless.

“Nice to meet you, Kita-san” you smile after Osamu introduces you by your name and nothing else, not a wink, not even a subtle hint or a reasonable explanation “happy birthday”

Shinsuke accepts the gift with a polite thank you and he’s almost made sure you could preserve a nice, normal memory of stepping foot into his house for the first time, of course failing to consider the Hinata factor.

“Thank god, Osamu, I’m so hungry- holy shit! Is her your gift? I only brought a cap that says farm hair don’t care!” there’s a strange but seemingly friendly redhead looking at you with eyes so wide you fear they might roll out of their sockets.

“Shoyo, any chance you checked the chat today?” Osamu smiles at him widely but Kita recognizes the tension at the corners.

“What? Of course not, I was busy picking a cute gift” Hinata smiles too but his excitement is genuine “hello, nice to meet you! Please come in, you can help us set the table!”

You chuckle and meet Osamu’s horrified eyes for a second, his posture relaxes as your gentle reassurance puts him at ease. I’ll be in the other room, then. Leave it to Hinata to make a gigantic deal out of a special guest only to treat her as one of his buddies ten seconds later. You seemed comfortable, though, as one always feels whenever Shoyo happens to be around.

“Who is she?” Shinsuke doesn’t mean for his tone to be so conspiratorial but he keeps it low, just in case you might still hear them.

“A friend. Kinda. Ya wouldn’t believe me” Osamu takes his jacket off and hangs it by the door, then picks up the plethora of bags from the floor and makes his way into his friend’s kitchen.

“No, I mean… who is she? Why does Shoyo know her?” Shinsuke follows suit, intent on helping him distribute all the food he’s brought in the different plates he has prepared. Osamu shakes his initial surprise off with a chuckle.

“Only one of the most famous pop music artists in Japan”

Kita stills his movements for a second, then absorbs the new information with a simple nod. “Right. And you met her at the shop”

“How d’ya know?”

“Where else would you be meeting a pop music artist?”

“Don’t make it sound so obvious” Osamu pulls a face and Shinsuke’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, she’s here. With you. Is it like… a date?”

“No” the peremptory answer comes embarrassingly fast “it’s her last night in the city, she’s here because she didn’t have anything better planned”

“But you invited her”

“Yes”

“Because you like her”

“I don’t-” Osamu gestures vaguely with his hands “it’s not like that. ‘Tsumu used to have a poster of her face in our room, for fuck’s sake”

Kita hums. “So what you actually mean is it can’t be like that”

“I don’t see the difference”

“I do”

“Well-” a loud commotion Osamu has been trained for over two decades to instantly recognize as his brother’s voice, makes the words die in his throat. By the time him and Shinsuke return to the colorfully decorated living room (courtesy of an overly enthusiastic Hinata and one resigned Rintaro), Atsumu is already talking your ear off and seemingly invading your personal space multiple times as he follows you around the table you’re setting with Suna like a golden retriever on a sugar overload.

“Shoyo, you were supposed to keep her safe” Osamu glares at his brother and takes a mental note to scold Aran too, later. For snickering.

Hinata doesn’t get the chance to defend himself because of course Atsumu’s the only one who could outshine that intense excitement with his own.

“Samu! What the hell? If this is yer gift to Shin, what are ya plannin’ to get me exactly?”

“Can everyone stop assuming she’s here as a thing and not as a person?” it comes out harsher than intended and Osamu feels his face grow hot when all those present simply stare at him. When you stare at him.

Suna clears his throat.

“Cut him some slack, he came out of the bathroom and we could barely convince him she’s not a hallucination” you chuckle at that, which makes the ever stoic Rintaro look away with a faint blush blossoming on his pale cheeks.

“Wait” Atsumu looks at you, then at his brother and his brows become progressively furrowed “she’s here with you? As in, you invited her? And she said yes?”

Osamu wonders why he thought a simple admonishment in the group chat would be enough. He has half an idea of shoving an onigiri right into his brother’s loud mouth and not perform any maneuver whatsoever when the rice obstructs his airways.

“Actually, I wanted to come” you chime in so gently it takes a few moments for him to register the words “I’m leaving tomorrow and when Miya-san mentioned it was one of his friends’ birthday, I shamelessly asked if I could tag along. Hope I’m not a bother”

Kita is looking at you the same way Osamu is, puzzled. Hinata almost chokes on his coke and starts coughing profusely, so much that Aran has to lend him a napkin.

“A bother? No, of course not!” his nose might be on fire but by god, he physically cannot let you believe such nonsense for a second too long.

Atsumu’s mouth hangs wide open, brows still knit that make his expression overall hilarious “you make her call you Miya-san? Yikes, bro” he turns to you and makes a scene of slamming a hand on his chest “please, feel free to call me ‘Tsumu. I think we’re intimate enough by now”

“Given that we took five selfies and you made me sign my name on your abs, I also think we’re intimate enough” your grin seems genuine, which only startles Osamu more.

“Ya made her do what?” oh, there are probably not enough words in the japanese vocabulary for the way he’ll have to apologize at the end of the night.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind” you shrug “but if I could ask everyone a small favor…”

“Sure, anything!” Atsumu’s interruption only makes your smile grow wider “I’d really like to celebrate Kita-san’s birthday like you’d normally do. Please don’t make a big deal out of me, it’s his night after all”

“She’s asking not to be treated like a circus act” Aran whispers to Hinata, who blinks his big brown eyes in quiet understanding.

“Done!” Atsumu’s fist hits his chest right where the heart is as he solemnly declares “you’re one of the boys now, consider yourself a pal”

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu” he tries to keep his composure but nearly implodes as you direct your attention to Shoyo “no, Hinata-san, this doesn’t mean we won’t be taking that picture I promised. Don’t worry” your wink is the prettiest, most wonderful thing he’s ever witnessed and thank fuck he’s done drinking that coke because his airways suddenly feel clogged.

Kita thinks this is already the most entertaining birthday he’s ever celebrated.

And celebrate his birthday you all do. Normally, as per your request. You sit between Rintaro and Osamu at dinner and masterfully divert the attention from yourself whenever the questions start piling up. The uno reverse technique works well: your curiosity feels flattering and everyone is happy to satisfy it. The questions you direct are extremely specific, your laugh echoes alongside everyone else’s and Osamu can’t help but think that, in some odd way, you fit in seamlessly. 

Keeping his eyes off of you isn’t but a strenuous fight with himself, it’d be lovely if looking would be the only activity he’d be allowed to engage in. It’s not hard to guess why hordes of fans and admirers are so enamoured: you’re such a natural. Polite, poised, funny, charismatic. Making you laugh feels like a privilege, having your brows raise in interest makes the story one’s recounting instantly fascinating. And yet you’re not doing any of that on purpose, he can tell. The one thing you’re being intentionally careful about is avoiding his gaze and making sure your arm doesn’t accidentally brush against his.

Osamu wants to ask himself why but also refuses to indulge in childish fantasies. What, he thought you liked him? Part of him believed you’d accepted to come to some stranger’s birthday party purely to spend an evening with him. Bullshit. Everyone in the world knows who you are and he simply owns an onigiri shop in Hyogo, one you happened to visit by sheer chance. He’s the guy you are so embarrassed to be seen with, you had to come up with a lie to justify your presence at the very same table that seems to adore you.

But when he jokingly throws a grain of rice at Aran, you hide your chuckle behind your hand. If he speaks, you always turn to look. Osamu doesn’t remember a social gathering where he tried to come up with just as many things to say, desperately conjuring genes that always weigh heavier in Atsumu. Unfortunately, the one person he could always count on, his dear friend and trusty supplier, decides his birthday night is the perfect occasion to stab him in the back.

“I’m sorry, I just need to ask” Kita refills your glass with fresh wine from across the table before retracting to his seat once more “your encounter with Osamu, how did it happen exactly?”

“Yeah, was his onigiri so good you wanted to-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Shoyo” Aran clears his throat as Suna, next to you, has a hard time swallowing his stir fry noodles.

“She heard my shop was the best in town, which it is, came to try it. That’s the story” Osamu wishes he could disappear into his kitchen as he often does when things at the restaurant get uncomfortable.

“I don’t buy it” Shinsuke shrugs “is that really the whole story?”

Kita’s knowing stare really hasn’t changed since high school and it seems you’re affected by it just as much as every other human. His eyes bore right into yours, trained to detect hesitation or even the hint of a lie, giving you no escape. Goddamn it, he’s still the team captain, there’s no running from him.

“Well” you gently swirl the glass in your hand, suddenly very much focused on the crimson liquid swooshing inside “I also kissed him”

This time someone does actually choke and, of course, it’s Atsumu. Right as Rintaro utters an ever quiet holy shit, he explodes in a coughing fit and Aran promptly strikes between his shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, perhaps with more force than needed. Thankfully, Atsumu manages to swallow his bite and, despite the tears threatening to run down his cheeks in all their shimmering glory, still conjures the energy needed to point an intimidating finger at his brother “ya bastard!”

“That’s a joke, right?” Hinata’s eyes have once again grown three sizes.

Kita doesn’t ask, the answer is written all over Osamu’s crimson red face. He was right, no one would’ve believed him.

“No, I really did” you take a sip from your glass and now everyone is looking at you like you’re some kind of alien. Except for Atsumu, who’s still glaring daggers at his brother.

“So this is… a date for you two?” Suna’s just as shocked as everyone else but seems to be the only person currently able to string words together.

“Oh, no” you brush the question off with a gracious wave of the hand “I just did it to thank him”

This time the silence stretches for a moment too long. Atsumu seems on the verge of passing out.

“You kissed him to thank him?” Kita cocks his head.

“Yeah. I mean, he was very kind. Have you never kissed someone to thank them?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so”

“Really?”

“Do you…” Aran hopes to the gods that the words don’t come out the wrong way “do that often?”

“Aran” as much as Osamu wishes the earth could swallow him whole, he doesn’t want you to think his friends may be implying something they’re really not.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It’s okay” you let our a nervous chuckle and because Osamu is sitting so close, he hears the shaky breath too “I know it was wrong. I tend to forget that’s not what normal people are used to. I apologized and now we’re good, right, Miya-san?” your eyes meet his and he feels his heart drop right into his stomach.

“Why are you used to that?” he asks instead of replying to your question and you just. Freeze.

“Yeah…” Hinata quietly chimes in “that doesn’t sound like something anyone should be used to”

For the first time, you don’t know how to respond. Osamu senses your panic, can read it in your eyes, but is too baffled to think of something smart or chivalrous to say.

“Holy shit, ya know what that means?” Atsumu slams both his hands on the table and both you and everyone else jump “it means she thinks I’m hot! In another life, I’d have a chance! Sorry, Shin, I know it’s yer birthday but I think this is the best night of my life!”

A quiet, astonished moment follows, then the table erupts in genuine laughter. You’re giggling so much you have to hold your stomach, Kita is shaking his head in resignation, Suna rolls his eyes with affection. Osamu settles for a smile as he relaxes against his chair once more. His brother may be loud and annoyingly inopportune, but his quiet support never once faltered throughout the years. One doesn’t need to be an old acquaintance to be taken under Miya Atsumu’s wing: if he senses as much as the hint of unease, his charismatic idiocy is summoned right away at the service of whoever may need it. Yet his loyalty remains unshakeable: Osamu knows that, in his stupid head, you’re already forbidden territory.

His mind is dizzy with confusion he doesn’t know how to properly address. As Kita blows out the candles on the cake he’s made, Osamu feels a wave of affection inundate his heart. He remembers that are nights like this that are worth being present, even if he has to get up at dawn or his sink is full of dirty dishes and he’s exhausted. Life only ever feels right when he’s with his friends or his family. It’s a routine he’s trained hard to get used to: work, work, work, carve out small moments to spend with those who come and go. It’s important for him to be there, when they come.

Osamu almost misses it, too focused on cleaning an extra plate or two in the kitchen, to make sure the birthday boy can get to relax once they leave. And then you call for him, a small crack in that poised facade of yours when his name almost slips out. You rush into the kitchen and urge him to hurry up, they’re already singing happy birthday to Kita-san. Come on, you’re missing it!

You probably wanted to go for his sleeve and found his hand instead, dragged him out of the room so quickly Osamu barely had the time to put the towel down. For some reason, once in the living room you don’t let go right away and neither does he. You only do so to clap with everyone else and even then it’s not entirely possible to establish who lets go first. Regardless, Osamu gives your hand a light squeeze and hopes you notice, despite there being no signs to indicate that.

You’re the first two people to excuse themselves: he refuses to let you go back to your hotel on your own, doesn’t give two shits that you have a driver or could well afford a cab because it’s a beautiful evening and Osamu is itching to have as little as ten minutes alone with you. He watches as you formally offer a hand to Suna and he grins as he shakes it, gently taking it in between his in a respectful attempt at suggesting that there’s no need to be so ceremonious.

You exchange quick hugs with everyone else, take the picture promised to Hinata, chuckle lightly when Atsumu timidly asks for a kiss on the cheek just because “it’s the american way of saying goodbye!” and of course you accomodate the request. Osamu is almost willing to bet you genuinely had fun but he also can’t seem to shake off the odd feeling suggesting you’ve somehow taken it upon yourself to just… appease everyone for the entire evening. Like some kind of duty. He doesn’t want you to think back to this evening like a task that had to be carried out.

“Oh my god, I cannot fucking believe it!” Atsumu’s shriek echoes loud and clear in the empty street  as soon as Kita shuts the door and you meet Osamu’s exasperated glare.

“I’m genuinely not sure what I should start apologizing for” he runs a hand through his brown hair and his stress makes you smile as you fall into a comfortable walking pace.

“I should start by thanking you for inviting me. Can’t remember the last time I had such a normal night”

“My friends are many things but I don’t know if they really fall into the normal category”

You laugh at that. “I think they’re really nice. It was fun. I didn’t know there were two of you”

Osamu grimaces, lightly shaking his head “good call, he’s the thing I should start apologizing for”

“I liked Atsumu” of course you did, don’t they all? “you’re lucky to have such good friends and a brother. Is it true what they say about weird connections us twinless mortals wouldn’t get?”

He sighs. As much as Osamu hates stereotypes and all the disadvantages that come with not being able to be his own person, the curse of always being considered nothing but part of a set, he knows the bond with Atsumu is just as rare and irreplaceable as people make it out to be.

“Well, I can pretty much always read his mind. But it’s not a twin thing, s’just an Atsumu thing” he shrugs “most transparent, honest person on earth”

“You’re both very kind” your observation strikes him. It hits the nail on the head: he does his best but it’s unusual for someone to notice ‘Tsumu’s selflessness right away.

“Could say the same about ya” he’s eager to direct the topic to the thing he’s really interested in, the one person who refused every bit of attention directed her way throughout the night “that tea collection must’ve costed a fortune. Shinsuke loves tea, yer manager picked well”

You hum, gaze focused on your feet. “Actually, I picked it”

Another thing Osamu has in common with his brother, the ability to royally fuck up in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, happens all the time”

“What happens?”

“People assuming things” you’re not mad, there’s just a sad vibration to your voice. If he could punch himself in the face, he would.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” Osamu hates the smile you toss at him. He hates it so much he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and watches you turn around, confusion flashing in your disenchanted eyes.

“There’s a pretty cool park ‘round the corner. How about a detour? If you’re not too tired”

You hum in agreement, ask him to lead the way. Careful, Osamu, you’d like to say. This same polite regard is what got me in trouble the first time.

The park, which is more of a garden really, is a slice of eden in the jungle that any city inevitably ends up feeling like. Lowlands, an abundance of irregular but colorful flowerbeds that seem to glow in the dark, the warm air of the evening saturated with the sweet scent of lime trees, a gravel path you both follow all the way to a small, wooden playground. It’s only natural to gravitate toward the swings, relish in the comfort of the stillness the evening offers. It always feels like the earth rotates slower, pace decelerating to give you more time to enjoy the things it’s hard to appreciate during your hectic days.

Osamu approaches the swing like an old friend, takes hold of the chains with both hands. He lightly pushes off the ground with his feet while pulling back, giving you a perfect view of his perfect profile.

“I don’t want to assume” he says quietly “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yeah” you rest your head on the chain you’re holding, still looking at him who won’t look at you.

“Why did you tell ‘Tsumu you asked me to come tonight?” the actual question dies in his throat. Were you that embarrassed of being there with me?

“You seemed pretty self-conscious. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable” and I guess that way, you got to seem cooler.

Osamu almost chokes on his own spit from how surprised he is by your answer. What the fuck.

“I wasn’t-” not for the reason you seem to believe “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”

You smile, patiently waiting for the moment where he’ll finally turn to meet your gaze instead of persistently staring at his feet. “I don’t think I ever felt that comfortable in a room filled with men”

“That shouldn’t be an exceptional occurrence”

“Right. But it is”

He spends a few moments trying to come up with the right words, a handful of seconds spent with part of his brain wishing he could have a talk with all the men who made you feel unsafe. How many? Where, why? Are they the reason why Osamu wants to get so desperately close and yet keep a respectful distance, not to scare you off, not to be another name added to the list of creeps you surely hate?

“Why did you kiss me?” those are far from being the right, considerate words he was trying to summon, but they bubble up from his throat before he can stop them.

You hum, pensive “I don’t know. You’re pretty, you’re gentle, I thought t’was what you expected to happen. It’s what men usually expect in return”

“In return for what?” he fights the urge to keep his eyes down, confident that the darkness will conceal the redness of his cheeks. You think he’s pretty and the first thing his dumb brain is able to link the revelation to, is Atsumu. Shit, he was right, this means you do find him attractive as well.

“Anything, really” your chuckle is devoid of actual humor “I know this night was supposed to make up for it but I didn’t expect to have so much fun. Regardless, I hope we’re even now”

Osamu furrows his brows.

“Ya think that’s why I invited ya?”

“Why else?”

He almost laughs, incredulous. You hide that mistrust really well, Osamu has to give it you. It feels unfair that life has given someone who seemingly has everything, so many reasons to think you can only be seen as an empty shell, some trophy with the sole purpose of being flaunted.

“You said you were leaving. I didn’t like the idea of not seeing you again”

“Really?” your lips curl into a small smile “the weird girl who jumped you on your first meeting?”

“You’re weird” he concedes “and selfless. Intelligent. Maybe jokes are not your forte but, hey, ya get to look like that” your laugh compliments his really well and Osamu can’t help but think he’d like to sit in a park, in the middle of the night, and talk and laugh and be with you just once more.

You briefly wonder if the man sitting so close to you is aware of just how devastatingly charming he is. Part of you wishes he’d want to take you out on a proper date, let you meet his friends on different occasions, include a weird stranger in such a well balanced life. Part of you also knows you’d never want to ruin that for him. Not for someone like Osamu. People who are unfortunate enough to stumble across you are almost always harassed away, it’s a life you’re used to and can’t bring yourself to run from. It’s who you are and, most importantly, all you have. It’d be too dangerous for your heart to desire anything different.

But he’s looking at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, land emerged from the sea millions of years ago for his eyes only to experience such a sight. No one’s ever looked at you with such wonder.

“I don’t want to assume” he holds your gaze locked to his, swing dangling lightly as he leans closer “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yes” you utter a little too breathlessly.

“Can I kiss ya?”

You hum in affirmation and close your eyes, heart beating a little faster than what you’re used to as you sense his proximity. He smells nice, radiates warmth and his soft hair tickles a little when his lips gently press to your cheek.

Osamu smiles when he catches a glimpse of disappointment flashing over your features, the first of many clues he wants to learn how to interpret correctly. The cracks in a facade he’d make his personal mission to tear down.

“I know you have to go away tomorrow” he gently moves a strand of hair away from your forehead “but I wondered, if you didn’t, whether you might let me see ya a little. Or a lot, maybe”

You lean into his touch, calloused fingertips still barely grazing your skin.

“A lot sounds good”

[ebonyslasher]

Can you do more yandere slashers part 2 please.

Hopefully, I'm getting better at writing yandere characters! There are some possible triggering themes ahead so read with caution.

Roses are red, violets are blue

Here's

Yandere!Slashers Pt. 2!

A strained sob bounced against the dingy walls that you were held captive in. Your existence, normally happy and calm, turned desperate and miserable. You looked around with teary eyes, taking in your unfortunate new home. The air was littered with specks of dust, paint torn from the walls, and all the windows crudely covered and broken. It was a scene taken from a horror movie that you desperately did not want to be in. The tears silently flow down your face before the raggedy door flings open.

A shadowy, foreboding figure stood tall at the door frame. You recognized that figure, it was the one who kidnapped you to this horrid place.

“Please ... .please let me go…,” you whimpered out, your sobbing revitalizing before this monster. He stepped forward and you shrunk back. He stops. The next movement he made your heart stop. Michael flings a body beside you. The patch of light coming from the mostly covered window showed the gouged out eyes of your crush. They lay lifeless and their once beautiful face was now covered with blood. 

The image of a dead body, especially of someone you knew, caused you to hyperventilate. Feeling an extreme urge to flee, you stand up and attempt to run towards the door. Michael grabs your arm painfully and throws you down.

“Let me go, let me go! You monster!” you screamed. You attempt to stand again when Michael kicks at your legs. He quickly places his dirty boot on your right leg, right on the tibia. Stomping down, Michael relishes in your painful cry after the sickening snap of your bone. You could not run from him and he could not be happier.

—--

Michael knew everyone who lived in Haddonfield. Most by their identifiable features and home addresses.

Michael stalked all his victims, but only for a short time as their existence would not last long.

However, if he becomes obsessed, not only will he stalk them every single day. He will keep them alive for an undecided amount of time.

As you place your existence in Haddonfield, Michael becomes hooked. 

He paid attention to your needs, placing toiletries that you ran out of/low on in various places in your house. It escalates into leisure items that you spoke about with your friends. Things that he knew that you knew you did not purchase

Making himself known, he begins to appear and reappear in different places, from a distance. Toying with you.

Anyone who will get in the way will be removed, permanently. Especially any love interest.

He is not above harming you to make you submit, stay, and be quiet. He knew what was best for you.

Injuries looked especially good on you anyway

“Kitten ... .how disappointing,” Asa remarks, seeing the piss-poor excuse of a Valentine's Day present on his bed. It was made haphazardly, the paper mache butterfly looked tattered with paint, some sort of adhesive, and drenched paper.

Asa had shown you how to do the technique weeks ago, disguising the activity as a fun bonding moment. He made an off-handed comment that a paper mache insect would be a great gift for Valentine’s Day. Of course, his smart little kitty caught the hint. But, it was obvious that you did not practice enough. 

You sat upon the bed, head down in embarrassment at the state of your gift. “Asa, I tried! I really did! You know I’m not that good at-” You started to explain. Asa put his hand up and you stopped talking immediately.

“You had ample time to practice, y/n. But, you did not. Therefore, you will be punished. Get on all fours on top of your disaster,” Asa instructed coldly. You did so, feeling humiliated at the action. You desperately wanted to make this up to him while also feeling apprehension at the punishment. 

Asa starts to hit your back and ass with his hands. You endure, but the force of his hits ends up making you fall on top of your gift. The burn of his hits combined with the uncomfortable feeling of wet paper and glue slathering your stomach. It made you cry out, strengthening the boner Asa had. 

---

Anyone who’s moving, living, or even traveling through the town gets observed by Asa. When you arrive, you capture his interest in ways he never thought possible. 

He searched your name, address (and floor plan if available), and knew all your family members. He breaks in to look at everything you have.

 He had notes dedicated to what you like to eat, what size of clothes you wear, etc. 

Once he captures you, he doesn’t make you a part of his collection. Instead, you'll be his personal pet. A little kitty he can enjoy. 

Life was starting to get a little boring. Your existence changed his life. He just needed to train you so you would not be useless to him.

His training includes the way you react (in the way that he likes), enduring physical punishment and sexual sensory overloads, how to care for him correctly, etc. 

Any spouse, family, or friends that were living with you are now part of his collection. They would be a distraction to your duties.

If you perform extremely poorly, he will drag you across the floor to see any loved ones in the collection. Digging his fingers into your eyelids to force you to look at their display.

“Dr. Lecter?,” You asked as you knocked lightly on his office door. You let yourself into his practice, as was normal for your appointments. 

“Y/N, please come in,” he said smoothly so as to not betray his excitement at your arrival.

You plop down on the sofa across from him and your weekly sessions begin. You’d had them for a month now. It was last week when you noticed that you were getting weirdly attached and attracted to Dr. Hannibal. It wasn’t right with the power dynamics in your current relationship. Also, all the blaring issues he knew about your life. This did not dissuade your budding feelings, with the unintentional help of Hannibal. He did not know that your conflicted romantic feelings were about him. It was like he always knew the right thing to say. He spurred your mind to think outside the box or his perspective. Everything he said, he seemed to always be right about. 

“.....I feel a romantic connection to this person, but I know I shouldn’t,” You say.

“And why not?” He questioned

“Our relationship right now…it would be inappropriate to say the least.”

Hannibal leaned forward, his face schooled in its perfect neutral expression. Internally, he was fighting a smirk to bless his sharp features. “And what is love without risk?”

“....I…”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t know, y/n. I am merely throwing out a different perspective. You like this person right? What makes it inappropriate?”

“His…status and title do. The power dynamics would be unequal,” you say, trying to be as vague as possible.

“It will always be unequal. You possess powers that he would not have. And vice versa. Titles mean nothing. You see, I am your psychiatrist. I know who you are, I can see the power that you have. A relationship between you and me would be risky, in the eyes of others. But, only our eyes matter in the end.”

“A relationship between us two…?”

“Just as an example, Y/n. To help you see the big picture.”

--

You were his patient. He fell in love, becoming obsessed with you. You looked like the perfect partner, one to parade around at the envy of others. 

He would make sure to format your mind to see how perfect you two would be. That he would be the only one for you. 

Hannibal being Hannibal does this covertly, planting seeds into your head every session. He even stops taking payment for your appointments, to ensure you would still come.

The medication he would prescribe you was a level of biochemical control over your emotions. He knew the side effects and how the medication would affect your mood after you took them. 

He acts like the perfect gentleman. He has perused your home, making sure to have items that you need or want coincidentally at appointments. 

Anyone who is a threat to you or the budding relationship will be removed.

You will see them for the last time, served as a decadent meal. He will feed them to you, without your knowledge

“Taylor Layknn’s party is in two days, I’ve taken the liberty of picking out your look for you,” Patrick says dismissively. He thrust the outfit into your arms as he checked his phone. You stood flabbergasted at his gall.

“Patrick, I already had an outfit planned out,” you explain. You look over the outfit, trying to imagine how it would look on you.

“Yes I know, but I saw this while shopping and thought about you immediately. I knew it would be flattering on you. It goes with what I’m wearing. We’ll look great together.” Patrick looks straight into your eyes, watching your reaction.

You felt annoyed, a little offended, but flattered that he thought of you. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think that’s exactly my style.” You began to hand the outfit back to him. He thrusts the outfit back against your chest.

“It is your style and you don’t even know it. Here, look at how the color compliments your skin. How it’ll hug your figure in the right places. You know, most of these bitches don’t even know how to dress. You’ll be the talk of the night if you just listen to me.”

--

He tries to shelter your interactions from others, feeding you lies and pretending like he is giving you inside information to gain your trust

He purposefully talks bad and compassionate about others to uplift himself in your presence, disguising it as competition.

He is always extra with his appearance but was even more so when he knew you were going to be there.

He even wears the cologne that you love. He sends you flowers, your favorite ones, to show how much attention he paid to you

Once he has you wrapped around his finger, He tells you what to say and how to act. He needs you to be the perfect partner that even Paul Allen would be jealous of. 

The desperate yuppie that he is needs you to look and act a certain way to fit in with the 'in-group'.

He buys you clothing and expects you to wear it for him. He will send you makeup tutorial videos that he likes.

Patrick will also send photos and videos of people with what he thinks is the ultimate body type. He will do whatever to shape and mold you into his perfect partner.

Patrick has a doll that looks like you in his office drawer. He dresses up in what he would want you to wear. He has another at home where he acts out fantasies of your eventual marriage. 

He constantly questions where you are or slyly questions others. He gets mad if he isn’t invited anywhere, especially to his favorite place.

If he could, he dreams of hiring you as his personal assistant (if that was your profession). He has thought many times about firing his current assistant just to have you perched there, sitting pretty.  

[corviiids]

questions to answer about your tav that have nothing to do with baldur's gate at all and are dubiously set in some ambiguously modern period

(you can also answer these questions about unrelated non-baldur's gate OCs if you want because it is a free world that we live in)

what smiley face would they use the most if they had a phone

regular morning beverage (and snack) order

how lactose intolerant are they and if they were lactose intolerant would this stop them from consuming lactose products

if they went to a modern day university what would they get their bachelor's in and do they enjoy it

instrument they wish they could play but can't

hobby or interest they are most embarrassed about

do they watch free-to-air tv

do they collect anything and what is it

do they prefer sweet or savoury foods

what are they allergic to

story of their first kiss (if applicable)

if they were at a corporate or school-sanctioned group bonding event and someone asked them to say one fun fact about themself what workplace appropriate fact would they choose

signature perfume (you can name a real perfume or just name some fragrance notes)

how late do they leave their gift shopping before birthdays / christmas / any other event where gift-giving is required

what mundane human job would they have in modern society to pay the bills and do they like it

given a bag of fruit-flavoured candies which fruit flavour of candy is their favourite and which one do they vehemently dislike

pick a random mild injury illness or miscellaneous ailment for them to consistently or periodically struggle with (e.g. bad knee, hay fever, bad acne). or don't

everyday task they must do but struggle with or simply hate

their top 3 songs on repeat

preferred adhesive item for general use (e.g. gluestick, sticky tape, blu tack)

do they use duolingo and what's their longest streak

social media platform of choice, if any

what material do they prefer for their coasters

how do they close their emails

how do they address groups of people in group chats or in person

favourite farm animal. (has to be an animal found on a farm)

name a toxic trait of theirs that is really just a beige flag at best

movie snack, if applicable

if you dared them on the spot to get a tattoo and they're not allowed to think about it what would be the first thing that came to their mind

if you met them, you the human person reading this, would you get along

[blogport]

EPOXYSHİNE - DRAGON+ (3)

Epoxy floor coating is not just a practical choice for enhancing the durability of your flooring; it's also a stylish solution that can transform any space. Whether you're a homeowner looking to revamp your garage or a business owner seeking reliable commercial flooring solutions, understanding the benefits of epoxy will help you make informed decisions. As you search for "floor polishing near me," consider how an expertly applied epoxy coating can elevate your interiors while providing a long-lasting finish. 

Epoxy Floor Coating

Epoxy floor coating is a highly durable and resilient flooring solution that has gained popularity in both residential and commercial spaces. This type of coating is made from a combination of resin and hardener, creating a strong bond when applied to existing concrete surfaces. The result is a seamless surface that can withstand heavy foot traffic, chemicals, and abrasions.

One of the major benefits of epoxy floor coating is its versatility. It can be customized in various colors and finishes, including high-gloss and matte textures. This means that property owners can choose a look that complements their interior design while still providing the durability they require. Additionally, the smooth finish of epoxy makes it easy to clean and maintain, which is particularly advantageous in commercial settings.

Furthermore, the installation process for epoxy floor coating is relatively quick, often completed within a few days. However, it’s essential to hire professionals who have the expertise and equipment to ensure a flawless application. The right team will properly prepare the surface, allowing for optimal adhesion and longevity of the coating.

Floor Polishing Near Me

When searching for floor polishing near me, it's essential to find a service that not only meets your expectations but also understands the unique needs of your flooring. Professional floor polishing can revitalize old surfaces, restoring their shine and luster while protecting them from future wear and tear.

Many local companies offer specialized services in floor polishing that cater to various materials, including hardwood, tile, and concrete. A quick search in your area will yield numerous options, allowing you to compare prices, services, and customer reviews to find the best fit for your needs.

Additionally, hiring professionals for floor polishing ensures that the job is done correctly and efficiently. They use advanced equipment and high-quality products that not only enhance the appearance of your floors but also extend their lifespan. So, don't hesitate to reac

Commercial Flooring Solutions

Commercial flooring solutions are essential for businesses seeking to enhance their aesthetic appeal while also ensuring durability and functionality. The choice of flooring can greatly influence the overall atmosphere of a commercial space, leading to improved employee morale and customer satisfaction.

Among the various options available, epoxy floor coatings stand out due to their seamless finish and resistance to heavy foot traffic. These coatings not only provide a sleek look but also protect the underlying surface from wear and tear, making them ideal for warehouses, retail spaces, and industrial environments.

Moreover, businesses often explore additional options such as vinyl flooring, carpet tiles, and laminate surfaces to meet specific needs. Each of these materials offers unique advantages, allowing business owners to choose the most suitable flooring solution that aligns with their operational demands and aesthetic preferences.

Metallic Epoxy Floor

A metallic epoxy floor offers a stunning visual appeal that enhances the aesthetic of any space. The reflective properties of the metallic pigments create a unique look, resulting in a three-dimensional effect that can mimic a variety of surfaces, such as water, marble, or even molten metal. This type of flooring is especially popular in modern homes, showrooms, and commercial spaces, providing an eye-catching yet durable surface.

One of the significant advantages of a metallic epoxy floor is its durability. This flooring solution is resistant to stains, chemicals, and impacts, making it ideal for high-traffic areas. Additionally, it is easy to clean and maintain, which means that business owners and homeowners can save time and resources. The seamless nature of epoxy flooring also contributes to a hygienic environment, especially in spaces like hospitals or laboratories.

Installing a metallic epoxy floor can be a customized process, allowing property owners to choose their preferred colors and patterns. Whether you’re looking for a sleek, industrial look or a vibrant, artistic finish, this flooring solution can be tailored to meet your unique vision. By consulting with professionals, you can ensure that your metallic epoxy floor is installed correctly and maximizes its longevity and beauty.

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

Blood Is Pretty ♱ Kirk Hammett (18+)

Mentions/Warnings: blood fixation, blood sharing, guided masturbation, thigh riding, kirk's labret piercing

Part Two

You always try to make sure that your blood fixation and fascination isn't too obvious. It'd started when you were a kid, and back when you and Kirk were just barely old and big enough to be able to run around the neighborhood without adult supervision. Your mom had gotten you a matching set of skateboards in a value pack, and you two were out of your childhood home before your mom was even able to fully unwrap them from their protective plastic cover. You two found an uneven and jagged curb across the street, and before you two could second guess it, you were both grinning at each other and pushing yourselves forward. The abrupt and harsh contact of the uneven and rough concrete underneath your palms and the sides of your legs had your eyes burning, but the pearl and beaded droplets of red that rushed out from underneath it made your pain a soon, distant worry. You were so transfixed on the stark contrast of red on top of your scraped skin, that you almost didn't register the sharp intake and hiss of a breath coming from behind you.

Kirk was sat with his knees cradled to his chest, and his chin was wobbling in barely concealed and discomforted pain, yet he was still beautiful to you. And so were the trails of bubbled red making their way down the bottom halves of his legs. You had rushed over and placed your hands underneath his kneecaps to try and help him alleviate some of the pressure, but your scraped skin gave way to the wetness, and you combined your guys' blood together instead. Your red mixed with dirt brown and his a more vibrant red, and your mom had to remind you to wash the mess off of your arms after she ran over once she heard Kirk's cry of pain. You were seven and a half when you were stood on top of a stool and watching the dark red hue of yours and your best friend's caked blood, slowly make its way down the drain. Small, darkened flakes remained afterwards, and you slowly picked them off with your scraped fingernails in awed wonder, somehow feeling like you two were now even more closely bonded. The next day at school, you and Kirk were sat next to each other in class with identical adhesive bands atop torn skin, and you couldn't shake the urge to want to peel his back and see how his still matched yours. And how you wanted to feel closer to him, like you had the afternoon before.

Years go by, and with each that do, another scar is added onto your guys' skin. If it wasn't from skateboarding or hopping fences to try and illegally get into concerts and cinemas without paying, they were from homemade piercing guns. More Kirk than you, but by the time you guys are graduated from high school and in your early twenties, both of your ears are pierced, and so are a few other places. Your belly button being a favorite of his to tug onto, whenever you have it visible, and your favorite being his labret. The droplet of blood that slowly presented itself through the thick skin underneath his full bottom lip made you shake when you pierced him, and Kirk had looked knowingly at you as you dabbed it away. The more than ten years in between your guys' first tumble had you ending up seeing even more friends fall near or with you, and strangely, theirs didn't excite you or invite you in like his did. It took you until your late teenage years to realize that it wasn't just his blood you were attracted to, but him as well.

The thick lips that pull themselves upward when he sees you, his brown eyes that darken whenever you two touch, his roughened and calloused hands from years of playing guitar. Blood may usually interest you in a way a genre of music would, but the raw way his would display on his tan skin would make something sing inside of you. And on the day he slits his finger open on a string of his guitar during rehearsal, something inside of both of you just rewires, and then snaps.

Kirk's cursing and lifting his guitar and its strap over his head to haphazardly rest it on its stand, before rushing towards the guys' shared bathroom. And when the sound of glass shattering catches your attention over Lars still repetitively thumping against his drums, you're running after him in worry. Yellow tinged light is beaming into the enclosed space as you hurriedly make your way in, and you halt in place at the smudge of blood in the middle of the now partially ruined and broken mirror. Heat drips its way down into your middle, and it churns as Kirk paces with his hand elevated in your peripheral. His frustrated expression turns into a grimace at the look on your face, and then it breaks away to turn into something more apologetic.

"I shouldn't have done that," he starts, and then stops himself in the middle of his sentence as he sees your lidded eyes stare down at the thin line of red resting upon his inner wrist. The flank of your back makes contact with the countertop attached to the sink as you peer at him and his cut, and he doesn't stop you as you shakily lift a hand of your own and encircle your fingers around his forearm. Using the loose grasp on him as leverage, you tug him even closer, and by the time the fronts of his shoes are nearly grazing yours, the accumulated blooddrop is about to fall from his pulse point. Your pinky finger stretches out to catch it before it can, and your breath stutters in your chest as it travels down into the small space in between your hold, and finds purchase on your palm. There's a heavy pause in time, and your irises rest on his when you experimentally look up. Amusement dances in his, and the piercing underneath his lip moves with his heavy swallow. His tone is stretched out and sounding high as he asks you, "you think blood is pretty, don't ya?"

Your heart hammers in your chest, and for a moment, you can feel yourself panic. You expect him to pull back and look at you in disgust, but you slowly start to untense yourself and your fingertips pressing themselves into his skin, when you find nothing but understanding in his gaze instead. The small gap in between your palm making almost exact contact with his arm closes in, and your tongue dampens your bottom lip when you find enough courage to answer and be honest. "Just yours." Your admittance is nothing more than a slanted whisper, yet from your guys' close proximity, he can hear you just fine. Something shifts in his gaze, and your eyes widen as he reaches forward to press the source of his bleeding against your bottom lip.

The dampness of the liquified iron welcomes itself into the pores of your lips and is absorbed, and then it spreads itself against your closed mouth's shudder. Confusion at his easy acceptance overwhelms you, until you look back and realize that he's had the same interest and fascination as you, all along. The way you two would mostly only watch horror movies together and dress up as killers during Halloween, the shared excitement over monster mania magazines, and the collection of horror movie memorabilia you two would keep over at yours for safe keeping. You slowly lax your lips until they open in a small gape, and maintain eye contact as Kirk slowly slides his bleeding index finger into the warm crevice of your mouth. The taste of copper isn't too pleasant and it's shocking against your tongue, but knowing that it's his and he's giving it to you, has you closing your lips around his second knuckle.

Kirk's eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when you apply light pressure to his incision, and he bites at his bottom lip while you suction to purposefully draw the last bead of blood from out of his cut. The heady taste has saliva pooling in your mouth, and as he slowly withdrawals his digit from in between your pursed lips, a trail of tinged liquid comes out with it. The thin and almost translucent line doesn't break until his hand is inches away from your mouth, and that's when you realize that his earlier look of understanding is a pale comparison to the hunger now painted on his face.

"Please." Is coaxed out of you, from around the iron taste in your mouth, and you're surrounded by him. By the diluted taste of his blood in your mouth, by the shared and identical scars of your legs, by the piercings in your skin. He's all around you, and now, you just want him to be inside. He's using his free hand to reach over and push the wooden door to your left to a close, before using his other, still slick with his blood and your spit, to guide your face towards his. The first wet glide of your guys' lips is wet and sticky, and you feel yourself pulsate at the realization that his blood is the substance that's slick and helping you two maneuver together. The sharpened stub of his labret piercing is pressing itself into the sensitive skin of your chin as he laps at the inside of your painted mouth, and the moan he lets out at the taste of himself has you arching yourself closer to him. The reverberation of his sound quakes and tremors in your chest, and you lick at the roof of his mouth as the hand he used to close the door, slides down to rest upon the button holding your pants upright.

A cold chill breathes itself through the small gap Kirk creates as he begrudgingly separates himself from you to talk, and the pink and reddish hue smeared on his lips has your hips lifting to plant themselves up against his. "Just mine, huh?" He questions, his voice on the precipice of a husk, and the brown of his eyes is barely even visible. The bulge of his dick pressing itself against his zipper is apparent as you make contact, and you pant as the fingers he has resting against your chin holds you in place. "What else is just mine?" His fingertips trail down the tense curve of your neck and press down along your stammering pulse, and then they rest on your right collarbone. "Tell me."

"Everything is yours." You expose, and you gasp as he abandons the button of your jeans to press you into the hard counter, before stepping back to turn you around. The small, bare sliver of your middle making contact with the cold marble has goosebumps waking on your skin, and they multiply when he rests his front upon your back. You can only make out your guys' wanton expressions over the punched in and fractured glass, and you can feel your flush spread even though you can't see it. His hands come down to rest upon your waist, and then slide themselves forward to unfasten the button of your jeans. Blown out and lust laden irises stare at you through the mirror and hold you in place, and your kissed red and blood smeared lips open in a startled moan as he presses his flattened palm against your clothed sex.

"You think I hadn't noticed when you kept staring at me as we watched all those horror movies, and the way you kept shifting when those girls would be kissed and covered in blood?" He croons, the tone in his voice redundant as his left hand carefully tugs your pants down to your knees. His still spit slick lips brush themselves against your earlobe, and your knees buckle when he bends his knuckle to press it right into your pulsing and wet middle. "Teach me how you touch yourself, when you go home afterwards and think about me."

You shakily lift your right hand from the hard surface in front of you and slide it down your front, until your fingertips run along the beginning of his, and then you intertwine. Kirk presses the back of his hand into your palm in silent reassurance, before guiding your joined hands under the cotton of your underwear, and mounts his lips against your clavicle as you cry out loud. The juxtaposition of your fingers soft pads just barely missing your clit and his meeting it straight on with the harsh skin of a callous has your hips raising, and your eyes stinging with the onslaught of desperate tears. "I didn't ask you to hump me, I asked you to show me." His words are direct and harsh, but his voice is amused, and slightly muffled as he teasingly peeks his tongue out from between his teeth. His appendage is lapping over a love bite when you carve and curve your fingers in just the right way to have his index and middle fingers press into your bundle of nerves, and you tremble as you twist your wrist in direct, and fast circles.

You're grateful for the background noise of the guys still absentmindedly and cluelessly rehearsing from less than twenty feet away, as your whines and mewls raise in volume and register. You can feel Kirk slowly grind himself against the swell of your ass, and he groans as your slick gives way to his fast motioning fingers, and as you press yourself back into his groin. The heat permeating into your skin from his still clothed dick makes your mouth water, and your eyes slam to a close as you feel the familiar lick of heat curl itself around your middle and beckon you in. Only this time, the man you always picture while you touching yourself, is pressing his fingers up right against you, and sucking bruises into your skin.

A light tsk is being breathed into the electrified air in the small bathroom, and then Kirk's forcing your hand off of his. Your heart plummets in your chest, and your eyes snap back open at the denial of your orgasm, before your lips mold into the familiar syllable of his first name. A taunting grin is raising his swollen lips, and then his hands are reaching down to spread your legs apart. A rough and clothed knee is pressing itself against you, and then calloused palms are guiding you up and down his jean clad thigh. "If you can't even keep your eyes open long enough to teach me, then the least I can do is help you use me," he drawls, and tugs your sopping underwear to the side. The fabric of your pants pool around your ankles, before sliding down to the floor as he lifts your feet from the ground. You're positioned onto his lifted thigh, and you can only grip and press your unsteady fingertips into the counter in front of you, as he guides you to ride and make a mess on his thigh. "You've been wanting this for so long, and you can't even teach me right."

The degradation would usually have you feeling offended. But right now, as his blood is still apparent on your tongue, as your pussy is roughly colliding with the dampening fabric of his jeans, as his teeth have made purple and red marks into your skin, and as his assuring and strong hands guide you back in forth, it only brings you closer to your release. You stare up at the blood smear just a few inches away from your face and ingrained in the reflector, and make the split decision to lean forward in his grip to run your tongue over it. It's dried into the fractured glass and nothing is added onto your appendage, but the visualization of you being hungry enough for more of him on your tongue has him cursing aloud behind you, and pressing the top of his knee into your sex.

You moan loudly and replant your hands in front of you as steady as you can, before pressing your weight into your forearms and circling your hips to bump and grind yourself against his limb. "That's right, sweetheart. Use me just like you need to, just like that." He's praising, and your vision whites out as your orgasm barrels into you. Oversensitivity and overstimulation makes you quake in his hold as he continues to beckon you back and forth, and he doesn't stop until you rest a hand against his and shake your head no. You're placed back onto your unsteady feet and carefully turned back around, before being lifted up onto the other side of the countertop. The coldness of the unused and glass free surface seeps into your bare backside, but you're unable to care as your head is tilted upwards and you're brought into a chaste and long lasting kiss.

Roughly swallowing around the last lingering taste of iron and panting into the welcoming heat of his mouth, you're only able to partially catch your breath, until he's leaning back with a carnivorous grin etched on his lips, and a hand is lightly tapping itself on the middle of the outside of your thigh. They shake in the aftermath of your orgasm, your chest still heaves, your eyesight is unclear, and your throat is sore and dry, but you're the fullest you've ever been. Yet, hunger reignites in you as he lowers himself in front of you to pick up your pants and realigns them with your ankles, and as he plants and sucks wet kisses and temporary marks on the expanse of your bare legs as he makes his way back up.

"I need you to head upstairs and get yourself ready," he instructs you once he is, and your pussy walls quiver emptily as you squeeze your thighs close and shut. Your head brushes against the unbroken side of the mirror as he follows you back, and your chest heaves as it sucks in your guys' shared breath. "I'm going to finish up here, and when I come upstairs, I'm going to tear you apart. Until you're crying and coming apart all over me, against me, and while I'm inside of you. That sound okay with you?" He's laughing as you needily and quickly nod, and the look he pins you with is filled with satisfactory want and anticipation. You watch unblinkingly as he licks at the fingers he had rubbing against you earlier until they're clean, and as he temporarily closes his eyes at the taste of you. When they reopen, his eyes are just as yours were when you were turned to look and face the mirror. Hungry, insatiable, soon to be fulfilled, and understood.

He's leaning back in a way that proves he doesn't want to be away from you, and then he's fully disconnecting his bottom half from yours with a heated promise, his hands trailing down your quivering sides as he takes a step back. "I'll see you upstairs. Go and get yourself nice and ready for me, baby."

[astro-hunny]

What if I just wrote Persona 6? Like. I could do it. I totally could. And I have ideas for it. Idk, maybe I'll do it maybe I won't. Vote time idk.

Ideas under the cut.

Did I hear a demand for FemC? Did I? Well even if I'm hallucinating, we have FemC in this P6! "Official" name for now is Minori Koto. Might change it later.

I'm sad to say... I can't set it in University/College without screwing with the timeline. I also have to set it in 2018 I'M SORRY IT'S FOR SOCIAL LINKS I PROMISE.

FemC moves to Tokyo from another-but-not-as-big city in Japan for her parent's work. As for where she's from, does it really matter? nahhhhh (i'm lazy/clueless rn)

Persona MC with present parents??? What??? That's a thing??? (might kill one tbh I'm bored)

We're going with a mix of P4 and P5 for how the other world works. Early on, our main character finds an odd book while looking for study material on classics. When she opens it, there's a portal instead of pages, and she gets sucked in along with her partner on the project/best friend character.

All of the other worlds are different books and follow the plot of said book, repeating over and over. The owner's shadow plays the main character, cognitions play all other named characters, and regular shadows play unnamed roles. The way to save the shadow is to either give them a happier ending or break them out of the monotony of the story. Burning the book would kill the owner.

Persona's are also book based. I haven't decided on if I want to name the Persona's after the characters or the authors, but it's one of those two. As for summoning, characters will get a massive tome that they rip pages out of, symbolic of tearing pages out to write their own story as well as a visual representation for SP/HP. (recovery items are things that would help repair the books, like adhesives of actual book binding materials.)

Social links. The bane of my existence. The two I actually have planned somewhat out are connected to 4 and 5 respectively. The next couple points are about them.

The first Social link you'd meet would be a first-year girl who recently moved to Tokyo from a very small town out in the country, also for her father's work. You also find out through her social link that she has a "big bro" in Tokyo who she goes to visit a lot, as well as his roommate and a lot of their friends. Her social link would generally be the two of you bonding over moving to Tokyo and our MC helping her study. If you've yet to realize, this social link would be Nanako Dojima from Persona 4. No, we can not see P4 MC. I'm sorry, that's for spin-off games. She would not join your party.

The second would be the owner of a small cafe you can find nearby the MC's house, who speaks of his kids and how much trouble they used to get into when they were the MC's age. He mentions his daughter getting into places she shouldn't and his son getting into too much trouble, but it's all said in a fond tone that tells you that he knows they were just kids. Eventually, he mentions a boy who used to come in and sit in the same spot you always do: the counter seat closest to the door. At your rank 10 with him, he'll ask you after the rank-up to look into it for him. He wants to know how to help his kids, but he doesn't have the means to figure it out anymore. You cannot tell him before the end of the game, but you can find a missing-persons case for one Goro Akechi that was never really resolved. This social link would be Sojiro Sakura from Persona 5, P5 MC being his 'son' and Futaba being his daughter.

As for velvet room, I desperately want to make it a library, but instead I shall make it an observatory. Personas are created through selecting two stars and crashing them into each other. Your attendant would be a gentle woman, maybe early twenties by the looks of it, named Agatha. She wouldn't be unwise to the world, but she would clearly be one of the less experienced attendants. Igor is Igor, he isn't possessed. for now. Also you could hypothetically walk around the velvet room if this was playable but idk how to make mods.

The team's outfits change in every storybook to match the theme. If you couldn't tell, I've been playing too much Love Nikki recently.

Yes, there would be a god as the final boss.

No, I am not making P6 Fes-Portable-Golden-Royal-Reload or whatever the fuck it would be named. It's in the original release like it should be.

I know we're tumblr, so I'll keep this last one brief. The best perk of all:

FemC gets to be gay. We are free.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, now please go vote.

[followthebluebell]

Hi! I hope this ask finds you well and you're having a great day! I had a question on cat behavior, mostly trying to figure out some issues we've been having in training our cats. They're both about a year old now, and we've had them since they were roughly ~15 weeks (they were abandoned by the dumpster at my inlaws apartment and they ended up bonding with me). My girl Sabrina doesn't do this as much as her brother Sebastian does (or at least we've caught him doing it more often), and that's scratching at doors rather than the cat towers they have. We've been trying to figure out how to get them on the scratching posts for months but he's just not having it and my sister in law has told me their mom (who was abandoned with them and she adopted) does the same thing at the wall. We've tried pretty much everything we've seen online and some things I've seen said it might be them marking territory? The only thing we haven't tried is the citrus sprays yet and that's been the next on the list. It's done some pretty bad damage to the door frame and we're about to have an inspection next month. They're the best cats in the world and we love them so much but we don't know what to really do here and I'm also a first time cat owner. My friend pointed me over to your wonderful blog and I was wondering if you might have any advice for us to try? I just want to see them happy and thriving but also not get in trouble with the housing people. Thank you so much for your time!

Hello there!

Yeah, cats can damage doorframes pretty badly; I think it's because doors just smell interesting. They bring in all sorts of smells every time they open.

So, your choices are to either redirect the behavior or discourage it entirely.

If you want to discourage it, you can try using double-sided sticky tape or silicone tape. The bad news is that this kind of tape can risk damaging your doorframe or peel the paint off. But since you're replacing the doorframe anyway, you can sort of test it out. If it damages it further, no harm done; it was going to be replaced anyway. Cats really don't like sticky textures and will try to avoid touching them (honestly, same).

You can also redirect it. You KNOW your cat wants to scratch in that location for very specific reasons: so you can give them an alternative surface to scratch on by putting a hanging scratching post on the doorknob. These are pretty cheap and are available in a few different types of surfaces. Most cats LOVE the cardboard ones. They don't last very long but it seems to be the most popular surface in my experience.

They don't have to hang either. There are also scratching mats that you can literally put on the wall. Hell, you can even cut them up into thin strips that are just wide enough to cover a doorframe. Most of these types of mats come with their own adhesive. Again, be warned that the adhesive backing can damage certain types of surfaces! It's a good idea to test them first.

I hope this helps!

[fruit-sauce]

back at it again with my insane AUs that make no sense to everyone except me

I can barely describe this myself but I'll sure try:

These were mostly based off the designs lining up well, they don't all make sense, some can best be described as "I just felt it made sense" so I'll try my best

Jaiden/Nihilego - Even with Baghera and Forever's connection with the Federation, Jaiden is preferred and is treated really nicely/Lusamine is obsessed it; blue; I was more thinking of the Lillie Nihilego from the anime

Vegetta/Buzzwole - buff; "its my six-pack!" - Vegetta/Buzzwole liking to flex and show off

Nihachu/Pheromosa - Very pretty and feminine, as well as super badass; Niki's sweater reminds me of Pheromosa's shiny

Tubbo/Xurkitree - Tubbo immediately building that giant drill "world eater"/Xurkitree having said that it once raided a powerplant; they both relate to machinery in some way; it was either Xurkitree or Guzzlord ngl

Philza/Celesteela - green; flying

Tina/Kartana - color palette has lots of orange and white; both relate to plants, Tina - carrots/Kartana - grass type

Felps/Guzzlord - Felp's square he's digging out/Guzzlord having eaten mountains and buildings

Slime/Poipole - Slime is.... slimy.../Poipole being called "UB Adhesive"

Ironmouse/Naganadel - Purple and Pink color scheme; this one is another one where there is little reason, it just felt right

Antoine/Stakataka - Antoine's builds (specifically the pillars at his Moon) reminded me of Stakataka; the skin I used in the photo, you can see stuff peaking through his arms and legs that match with Stakataka's eye things

Missa/Blacephalon - there is no explanation for this one; I guess Blacephalon's shiny matches well?

Quackity/Cosmog/Cosmoen - just a little guy; Quackity being stuck in water/Cosmoen being stuck, unable to move or do anything until it evolves

Etoiles/Solgaleo - Star/sun symbolism

BadBoyHalo/Lunala - Night/bat/etc. symbolism

ElQuackity/Necrozma - Darker color scheme; in ElQuackity's last days, he came in to say things, then it started raining/Necrozma stealing the light from the world

Mr. ------/Lusamine - He managed to get all the members to the island for whatever reason and Lusamine obsession with the Ultra Beasts (and the room with all the frozen Pokemon resembles the ice chambers the latest members were in)

Baghera/Lillie - Based off recent lore and the "Manager's Children" AU/headcanon; I really like how Lillie from shy and meek, to gaining confidence and wanting to go out on her own journey (both in game and in the anime),

Forever/Gladion - Also from "Manager's Children" AU/headcanon; Forever and Baghera having a sibling-like bond

Cellbit/Type:Null - Close relation to Forever/Gladion; Cellbit works for the Federation/Type:Null was created by the Aether Foundation

[o-ddel]

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[systembug]

🔺 RED TRIANGLE POINTED UP — does your oc know how to use any weapons?

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge?

🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily?

for Ethera?

Thank you for the ask<3

🔺 - Yes! She knows how to shoot, specifically. There are many guns that are too heavy for her to use effectively, however. The best choice would be a one-handed laspistol, imo. Her combat style is staying behind the lines and coordinating others, so close-quarters combat is a worst-case scenario.

🩹 - While i didn't intend to represent anything specifically, i think some traits i've given her might match some irl disabilities. I needed to balance her willpower, intelligence and psychic powers with some weaknesses so i made her physically frail. Which turned into her getting tired easily and avoiding physical exertion in the fic/my head. This is similiar to chronic fatigue, i think. The other thing i came up with just for flavour was her constantly whispering. Initially it was to give her typical "Mysterious mage" vibes. But then it gained a significance in her story, so its an important part of her now. I didn't go into any specifics on what exactly caused her injury, but it might be viewed as similar to some irl voice disorders(?). Basically, she cannot yell - her voice breaks and she would have a coughing fit. It gets hoarse and she has trouble breathing in some cases. She has a voice-amplifier that boosts the volume for her in case she needs to be heard.

The voice disorder is a metaphorical detail, that i put in mostly for symbolism, its not meant to be accurate to anything.

💘 - Her found family<3 It includes:

Her Seneschal that is utterly loyal and supportive, a person that has her back always. Pasqal, enough said XD (she trusts him enough to be herself fully with him) Idira, who she loves platonically. Her poor little meow meow that genuinely cares about her Lord Captain and Understands her:3 Jae is a fellow girlboss that fought to be a free person in an uncaring universe. They respect each other very much. They sometimes swindle each other out of money, in a friendly way XD Heinrix becomes her friend eventually, because he cannot hide his tender emotional side from a telepath and Ethera cannot bring herself to use it against him because she's just like him in that regard. They also bond over Psyker trauma Special mention goes to Vigdis - very loyal and helpful, becomes her right hand in gathering intel through the vox system.

🖤 - Yep:D This comes with being a spy. Its never a physical, direct murder, but she DEFINITELY poisoned some nobles, ruined some reputations and lives and possibly broke a couple of hearts along the way.

😓 - Its hard to not be open-minded when you can feel and know people's point of view like your own. She does have some values she won't budge on ofc, but she will hear you out at least.

🤒 - Yes, unfortunately. But as a Rogue Trader she has some good medical personell to take care of her:) (sickfic when /jk jk unless)

[egglantine23]

I just finished all of the Stormlight archive(except edgedancer and waiting for WAT) and I am obsessed! I do wish we got more info about the Nightwatcher as even the small glimpse of her we get are pure gold. She reminds me of the feyfolk from Ireland, Scotland, and whales in the best most unhinged way. I do however hope a couple things I want to happen with her.

A little context: I head cannon the three bondsmith Spren as storm father is the eldest brother and a brooding teenager 15 or 16, the Nightwatcher is like an insane 12 year old(think of a older lilo mixed with Matilda), and the sibling is the baby of the family who is like 6 or 7

Her bondsmith should be a singer.

If it’s someone we know than Vai, I know she’s young but I feel like together her and the night watcher could be schoolyard besties as in my head cannon they would be functional the same age, with Kaladin describing Vai as 7 in oathbringer it’s safe to assume with the singers faster aging she would be around 10 post time skip.

Also it could provide some character moments for kaladin and Vai, with her being an orphan and separated from everyone she knew Vai could blame kaladin for leaving and inadvertently causing her to be left alone, should ultimately come to terms with the fact that kaladin probably would have been killed by the fused and that he was not responsible for the way the fused punished Vai’s people, it could end with her forgiving him in some small way and perhaps swearing an ideal because of it.

Kaladin would also have to atone for his part, it could also tie into Kaladin’s therapy arch by helping Vai with her grief and perhaps helping her find a new family with the listeners or even becoming her new family.

and it connects to the themes of the cycle of revenge and Vai and kaladin would go through an arch of breaking the beginnings of a cycle of revenge in order to prepare for the bigger cycles that are connected to the conflict.

Another compelling option is someone we don’t know, maybe a family member of a known singer or listener like if Rlain had a sibling or one of Venli’s new listeners. A Iriali or Riran singer might be fun

I am also cautious about how the other two bondsmith surges work

as the surge Adhesion is only of Honor and the nightwatcher is of cultivation, the Nightwatcher could have a cultivation only version or substitute surge with it perhaps focusing on physical bonds, but I don’t know how that would work

And this is just a personal preference the stone theme we see from our only bondsmith just feels wrong

Overall the Nightwatcher’s bondsmith should help them avoid making a new oath pact. As reforging the oath pact just perpetuates the cycle of abuse and revenge that causes this war. And the books are ultimately about breaking that cycle and growing beyond them. A singer would make perfect sense for the Nightwatcher in this regard.

Small side tangent would be Vai’s mother being found/introduced, it also could be cool if she became a wind runner and her story could show how the elites of society pit the lower classes against each other and how the common human are not the singer’s enemies but those who enslaved and abused them (in this example the rich lighteyes). Also she could be extremely protective over Vai(the reason she wouldn’t be a will shaper) and perhaps her third or fourth ideal is about her balancing her job of protecting while avoiding controlling the people she wants to protect. Something like “I will strive to protect without force or control” or “I will protect all who need it, even if some have hurt me”. I will add more in another post

[cjgladback]

[ID: A video and gif of the same 3D-modeled wooden dragon toy on a plywood workbench with a large cast iron and copper C-clamp, a bottle of wood glue with a red label and cap, and wood shavings. In the video, the dragon toy is rolling in place with its wings flapping and legs walking driven by the turning of its wheels. The glue's label is legible in higher resolution, its front reading "Now 15% More Volume, Bugs' Glue Carpenter's Adhesive; Bonds Stronger than Wood, Sandable & Paintable, Easy Water Clean-Up. Interior/Exterior, 16 fluid ounces (437 milliliters)." The Bugs' Glue logo is a redheaded woodpecker colored in orange and cream on the red background and the sticker is a little worn and peeling up at the lower right corner. The plywood worktop is disconnected from anything, the background a flat tan color.

The gif shows many stages through the creation of the glue bottle and environment, starting with only the toy, then the clamp appearing fully formed, the glue bottle without details, gaining sculpted normals of the ridges on its lid and the bottle midline, its label getting a blue outline and large monochrome woodpecker logo before its final design, the rest of the materials finalizing, wood shavings appearing in the foreground, subtly different (simpler) versions of the clamp and bottle replacing themselves before turning back to the high res models, the worktop appearing under everything, 2x4 boards forming legs and support underneath as well as studs in the wall, and finally particle board backing the studs. The shavings, particle board, 2x4s, and plywood are all light colors and the most recent render is glowing golden with the environment light bouncing off all of it. End ID]

I've been slacking on getting progress posts here while getting into the weeds of making a game-worthy glue bottle and various trimsheet wood bits. The plywood worktop here is not trim-based, just adapting the same node groups I started the toy with, but the 2x4s, wood shavings and chips (not pictured), and very much still-in-progress OSB/particle board are all very modular materials. A pegboard and either newspaper or shop cloth are still planned (the pegboard high res is modeled) but still to reveal how efficient versus detailed I end up going. Otherwise, I have artistically piling the wood shavings, planning the animation, and making a nice dramatic garage lighting setup still to go before I then try to copy it as best I can (using all my nice lower-poly models) in Unreal Engine for the experience.

[mr---cringe]

Just had to take off my chest tape and it was unplanned (yep I have a schedule for that and it aligns with my job schedule so my skin can take a day off too) so I'm in the mood to talk about my experience with k-tape as a dude who's on the larger side (I mean what I mean these mfs have no business to be that big)

First I tried using k-tape for binding somewhat a year ago. And that was embarrassing cause I got the cheapest knock off thing 5cm × 5m. No matter how many tutorials I've watched tape just wasn't taping and flat chest wasn't flatchesting. This was where I said "screw y'all" and started wearing a binder. Ok, started wearing it really irresponsibly, and this torture waist damaged my ribcage to the point where it's sometimes painful to laugh too hard. I'm stealth at work and there's no way I'm entering the cafe suddenly having boobs, so I had to try using tape again, compression wasn't an option anymore

Endless love and appreciation for my skinny transmasc siblings but their methods of binding with k-tape are useless if you have the thing larger than an A cup

Applying:

- one layer of tape won't do shit. Period. No matter how firm, how stretchy, how wide it is, gravity is a bitch

- directions in what you apply the pieces is crucial so you don't make it look spherical

- larger chesticles ≠ longer piece of tape. You don't want it to go on your back, that's gonna be horribly difficult to take off by yourself

- the best results I got were done with laying down and letting the mfs slide somewhere near the armpits

- stretching the tape at the maximum it's capable of is temptating but you're gonna regret it so fucking much I promise. You wanna move and press the breast, not the tape attached to it

- if you can ask someone to assist you that's a perfect situation, cause they can see the whole picture, make sure there are no wrinkles and the direction is right (ps that turned out to be such a great bonding experience to me and my wife, recommend 100%)

- shave your damn armpits. You're gonna thank me later

Wearing:

- Be prepared for hygiene becoming The Task. You don't wanna disturb the thing too much, you don't wanna rub it or scratch it without a good reason, and most importantly you can forget about taking a bath or a hot shower. The solution I came to was a longer washcloth, that's really helpful in terms of keeping my back and shoulders properly washed

- Got a wrinkle? Take it off. Adhesive spontaneously stopped doing it's thing at some spot? Take it off. You have no idea how much you move your arms in day to day life, these things are gonna become blisters really fast, and these are painful and in fact an open gate for various infections, just like any injury

- If you wear it for too long that's gonna start smelling. Tape is a piece of cloth, and it accumulates sweat. The packaging may say anything the seller likes: it lasts 5 days, it lasts 5000000 days, but it's up to you how long it really lasts without making your life miserable

- Take your time to get completely dry after taking a shower before putting your clothes on

Taking it off:

- We don't wanna any blisters in this house, so we take as much time as needed to do the thing safely

- I've seen a shit ton of advices to use oils for taking the tape off. It works for a one layer application but it's essentially useless, if you have multiple layers of tape attached to your skin. The top layer gets completely soaked while the rest of them are dry af and then blisters blisters blisters. To make it effective you need a gallon of oil, and that's A) messy B) pricy, if you use cosmetic oils C) really difficult to get rid of it in the shower. Oils and soap create an emulsion and you spend hours in the shower and get left with sticky residue on your skin

- My method here: it's much easier to take a sticker off of a let's say glass, if you apply some heat to it. Blow-drying one's chest is something of hardcore edition, it's really uncomfortable and still can give you blisters and residue. What I do is giving myself a relaxing hot bath. I wait till the tape gets completely soaked and start slowly (I mean it) taking it off without leaving the bathtub. You wanna take it off the same direction you applied it. Btw this is where you're gonna thank me for saying that armpits need to be shaved. After the tape is taken off you still have some glue residue to get rid of. These who recommend using oils aren't entirely wrong. I apply some hair conditioner to the spot where the tape was and gently massage the skin. Most of the glue residue comes off at this point. Then just take a shower using a washcloth, apply some body lotion and you're good to go

All in all this is just my experience, what works for me and what ideas I got from the said experience. Share yours, if you feel like it

[spockandawe]

How do you make bookcloth? Is it tricky? Sp many beautiful printed fabrics but it seems quite intimidating...

It is not hard! And the way I do it is extra easy, but depends on having access to the right materials, which may be tricky depending where you live. In general, bookcloth is fabric backed with adhesive and paper (so that glue can't strike through it), and the different variations on homemade bookcloth depend on what kind of adhesive you're using. I use white heat n bond (two sided fusible web), which is a sewing product that I can find pretty easily (but I know some people can't get it in their country). I learned my method from sealemon, so here's her video on the subject:

https://youtu.be/wLoae5vKqTY

Now, the more TRADITIONAL way is to paint your cloth with an adhesive like wheat paste, lay your paper over it, and smooth the paper out so when it dries, it's glued evenly to the back of the fabric. I haven't tried this myself, my apartment is very carpeted and is tight on space, but I hear it's also very doable! And I think some people have used acrylic medium in a similar way too. I back my fabric with tissue paper mostly, but some people who do this method have an easier time with stiffer paper (printer paper is an option), but it's kind of a case of figuring out what works best for you. Here's a video on the topic that seems to be refusing to embed nicely, lmao

https://youtu.be/wLoae5vKqTY

I hope that helps!!